


When I Smile Straight Out For You

by killclaudio



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Epistolary, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-26 15:24:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5009929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killclaudio/pseuds/killclaudio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few letters Bertie and Edith wrote to each other between episodes. Spoilers up to 6x07. Chapter 5 has a spoiler for 6x08.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bertie’s heart turned over when he saw the feminine handwriting on the letter and the Yorkshire postmark. Still, with the discipline born of long training he put it aside and dealt with an estimate for the cottage repairs, a note from the machinery suppliers, and a tedious missive from the solicitors regarding a survey of the eastern boundary. Finally, he opened Edith’s letter.

_Dear Mr. Pelham,_

_I wanted to thank you once more for all your help at the magazine – I really am so grateful. You will be pleased to hear I have installed a temporary editor who is actually able to have a conversation with me without shouting, so hopefully there will be no more panicked editing sessions in the early hours of the morning._

_Of course, now I must find a more permanent solution. I should like very much to co-edit the magazine, but I think it unlikely that a man could be found who would share the position with me, so I am looking for a woman. Women editors are rather thin on the ground and I may be spending a great deal more time in London over the next few months while I search for one._

_I hope you managed to sleep on the train back to Northumberland and that you weren’t too tired. I was worried about you getting home on only a few hours sleep. How is Brancaster? I thought when we stayed there that it’s such a beautiful place, especially the moors. There are so few of the great estates like Brancaster left now. I know we can’t halt progress, but it does make me sad to see them sold and broken up._

_Do write or call the next time you’re in London. Perhaps this time we’ll manage to drink something other than coffee!_

_Yours sincerely,  
Lady Edith Crawley._

She had been worried about him. She would be spending more time in London. She wanted to see him again. 

Bertie leaned against his desk and took a deep breath, trying to slow the mad beating of his heart. It was utter folly to behave like this. The letter was friendly, nothing more. In all probability a woman as full of energy and purpose as Lady Edith barely had time to even think of him. But at least – please, God! – they would meet again in London. 

Bertie had been smitten with Edith the first moment he met her at Brancaster. Her sweet smile, chatting away to her brother-in-law. The slightly bewildered way she received any compliment. Her incredible knowledge of farming practices and modern novels and the women’s rights movement and everything in between. Her utter lack of awareness of how special she was, how few women could hold a candle to her intellect or determination. 

There had been no time for anything other than a few too-short dances, and try as he might Bertie had not been able to manufacture a reason to go to Downton. His catching sight of her hurrying down the street in London had been a gift, and he had seized it with a courage he had almost forgotten he possessed. If only she would have a drink with him he might persuade her to dinner, and if only she would have dinner with him he might persuade her to see him again.

Now, _mirabile dictu_ , it seemed he would indeed see her again. Bertie looked once more at the letter. It was plain white paper with the letterhead in gray, no feminine frills. Only the beautiful, flowing handwriting gave any indication it was written by a woman. Knowing he should not but hardly able to stop himself, Bertie lifted the letter and sniffed it. The faint traces of Edith’s perfume clung to it still, transporting him straight back to the office in Covent Garden where he had made coffee and fetched sandwiches and stood as close to Edith as he dared as often as he dared. It had been inspiring to see her at work, commanding her little empire with total confidence, entirely in her element. And any time he passed her a cup of coffee or made a suggestion she would look at him and smile, and he would feel as though his heart was trying to break out through his throat…

Enough. This would not do. He could not sit here all day dreaming. Bertie pulled his diary out and thumbed through it. He needed to pay a visit to the company who bought their milk, and it wouldn’t hurt to look in on the solicitors again. Perhaps next week or the week after. Lord Hexham didn’t much care how he spent his time, as long as the estate ran smoothly. He would write back and see what could be arranged.

_Dear Lady Edith,_

_I am so glad you have solved the problem of your editor, at least temporarily. I think you would do a marvellous job of editing the magazine if you chose to go it alone, but I suppose it’s reassuring to have someone with experience to help._

_I hope your family are well, and that you were able to spend some time with Marigold. Please give my regards to your parents. How did you enjoy your butler’s wedding? Few families have such amazing stories of loyalty any more – most of the servants at Brancaster are very recent, and Lord Hexham has the devil of a time hanging on to them. I suppose a life in service isn’t very appealing any more, and who can blame them?_

_Nothing much has happened at Brancaster, as ever. The neighbouring estate has been sold and the new owners have hired a surveyor and a whole gaggle of property solicitors to make sure that they’re getting every inch of land owing to them. The county show is next month and so I’ve been around the tenant farms admiring prize cows. I have learned more about cows this week than I ever wished to know!_

_Do you know when you’ll start interviewing for a permanent editor? I should be going down to London sometime next week or the week after to speak to some of our buyers. Do let me buy you dinner. One of my cousins owns a jazz club in Soho and I try to look in on him when I’m down. They have some wonderful singers, I think you would really enjoy it. Anyway, let me know when you’ll be in London._

_Yours sincerely,  
Bertie Pelham._

The following days of waiting were agonising. Bertie wasn’t sure which was the more acute torture, imagining awful scenarios or lovely ones. What if she couldn’t make it to London? What if she were too busy to see him? What if she agreed to dinner with him? Would he be able to sit across the table from Edith, watching her talk and smile and laugh, and resist the urge to kiss her?

What if she let him kiss her? That last one Bertie imagined at night, lying in bed with a glass of whiskey and a book that might as well have been blank pages for all he could concentrate on it. There was something so warm about Edith, under the prickly layers of efficiency. It shone through in her obvious love for Marigold and her passion for the magazine. Bertie could imagine all too well how she would kiss him back. He had already spent a good deal of time since meeting her thinking about what it would be like to kiss the back of her neck, her ear, what it would be like to unpin her hair and let it spill down over her shoulders, what it would be like to unzip her dress and slip it off... With a groan Bertie slammed his book shut and turned out the light. 

Finally, Edith's letter arrived.

_Dear Bertie,_

_I’m getting the train to London next Wednesday and I’ll be there at least a week. Does that coincide with your visit at all? I’m free any evening or for lunch most days if we’re not too busy at the office._

_I’m very fond of jazz – my cousin, Rose, is a real enthusiast and loves to play records for us, and one way or another I’ve been to quite a few of the London clubs. I’m sure I’d like your cousin’s very much._

_I’ll be staying in the flat in Kensington if you’re in London and you want to call ahead. The telephone number is Kensington 8583._

_Sincerely,  
Edith._

It was impossible to keep the smile from spreading across his face. She had called him Bertie! Oh God, he really was a hopeless case. A quick telephone call to the milk company and another to his hotel were all that was needed to organise things.

_Dear Edith,_

_That’s perfect timing! My meeting with the buyers is on Thursday but I’ll be in town for a few days after that at least. What are you doing on Friday evening? I’ll telephone as soon as I’m in town and we can make arrangements._

_I usually stay at Hazlitt’s if you need to get hold of me._

_Warmest regards,  
Bertie. _

As soon as he’d sealed the envelope Bertie got out a fresh sheet of paper and scrawled a note to his cousin, begging him for their best table on Friday night. He made reservations at Kettner’s for eight o’clock. He asked his valet to look out his best evening things. He walked around the library practicing his dance steps and fretting. 

In his whole life, Bertie couldn’t ever remember pursuing anything. He had gone into the army because it was what the men in his family did. He’d taken the land agent job because Peter had offered it to him. There had never been anything he truly wanted, anything worth fighting for. But my God, there was now. He had never felt anything like this desperate love before. He would fight with everything he had for Edith.

He would win her. No matter what it took.


	2. Chapter 2

Bertie started composing his letter to Edith almost as soon as he was on the train home. He knew how silly it was, when he had only seen her the previous day, but he couldn’t help it. The last few days in London had been some of the happiest of his life, and he couldn’t wait to see her again.

_Dear Edith_

_I know I’ve barely given you time to get home, but I just wanted to tell you what a wonderful time I had with you in London. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed myself so much. I hear the Café are getting Teddy Brown and his orchestra over from America next month – if you like I’ll arrange to be in town and we’ll go and see him._

_I meant it when I said that I think about you all the time when we’re apart. I don’t want to push you, but just know that I admire you very much and my feelings for you are absolutely sincere._

_Warmest regards,  
Bertie._

Dinner had been perfect. They had fallen into easy conversation as soon as they sat down, with Edith telling him about her new editor and making him laugh with impersonations of Mr Skinner and his spluttering tantrums. In turn he told her stories about being stationed in Dar-es-Salaam, the beaches and the waving palm trees and the unrelenting heat. He told her about growing up in Northumberland and going to play with Peter at Brancaster, and how they would sneak down to the kitchens and beg the cook for food, or fly paper planes from the balcony. 

As soon as dinner was over he asked her to dance. It was glorious having the opportunity to hold her in his arms again. Edith was tireless and constantly suggesting another waltz or a foxtrot, and for Bertie’s part he could have twirled her around the ballroom all night. They only stopped when the dance floor got so crowded that Bertie narrowly missed backing Edith into the Prince of Wales and they decided to have supper and watch the cabaret dancers doing the Charleston instead. If Bertie had anything to say about it, they would do it all again as soon as he could get back to London. Edith’s letter couldn’t come soon enough. 

But days passed, and still there was no reply. Bertie began to wonder if he had been too forthright in his letter, or if he had done something to put Edith off. It wasn’t until the following Monday, sorting through the afternoon post at his desk, that Bertie finally spotted Edith’s handwriting. 

_Dear Bertie,_

_I’m so sorry not to have written until now, but things have been dreadful here. My father’s stomach ulcer burst on Friday and he had to be rushed to hospital for an operation. Mama, Mary and I have been taking turns sitting with him the past few days. He’s been released now and he’s recovering at home, but the doctors have told him he can’t have any more stresses or worries, and that he has to stick to a very bland diet._

_I can’t even tell you how terrifying it was, all of us sitting at dinner when suddenly my father started vomiting blood. He’s rather weak still, although he does his best to hide it, and I’m not sure if he’ll ever really be the same again. Isn’t it awful to consider how one’s parents are mortal after all?_

_Now that Papa is out of commission, Mary really will take over completely. I believe she always wanted her own little kingdom to preside over and now she finally can. Which means it’s time for me to leave. I’ll go down to London in a few weeks and move some more of my things into the flat. I won’t move out of Downton totally, not yet, but at least I’ll have somewhere to retreat to._

_I wanted Mama to ask you to dinner at Downton one day, but I’m afraid that will have to wait a while now. But I’m sure they’d love to see you again. For that matter, so would I. Our evening at the Café was lovely – you’re really a very good dancer, in spite of your protests! I just worry that we don’t know each other all that well and I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret. But I_ do _want to see you again. Very much._

_I’ll write again when Papa is better and let you know about dinner._

_Sincerely,  
Edith. _

Oh, God. Bertie had liked Lord Grantham when they had met at Brancaster, and he was sorry to hear that he was ill. But his heart really went out to Edith. Bertie’s own father had been unwell for many months before he died, and he could well imagine what Edith was going through. In spite of all evidence to the contrary, deep in your heart you really did expect your parents to live forever. 

_My dear Edith,_

_I am so sorry to hear about your father. It must have been a horrible shock for you all. Please send him my best wishes for a speedy recovery. I’m sure the doctors wouldn’t have let him go home unless he were recovering well. And do let me know if there’s anything I can do to help your mother or the family._

_I would love to come for dinner some time, when your father is well and truly better. It would be lovely to see your family again, and I’m very excited to see the house where you grew up._

_If you need a hand moving your things then you only have to telephone. I can meet you at the train station in York and help you get everything to London, or I can spare a man from the estate if you want._

_Take care of yourself  
Bertie._

And so Edith would be living more in London. Bertie wasn’t surprised, but it did sting slightly. He was terrifically fond of Brancaster, but he knew a house on the estate and the life of an agent’s wife wasn’t much to offer Edith. Really, the third cousin of a Marquess had no business even looking at the daughter of an Earl, and he was lucky that Edith was too modern and egalitarian to care about such things. But if he couldn’t give her the comfortable life she was used to then he could at least help her build the new life she wanted.

While he was in London Bertie had been to see a few of his old Army pals. Several were working in the civil service, and they’d promised to put in a good word with the higher-ups. A chap he knew at Shell had said that they were looking for men. Bertie was a countryman at heart, but he could stand to live in London for Edith. He wouldn’t tell her anything yet, but if he had a prospective job in London it might be an ace up his sleeve, when the time came. 

When the time came. If he thought she would accept, Bertie would have proposed to Edith the day they met. Only her reticence was holding him back. _You have a great deal to offer. And I’m not sure I’m worthy of it._ At the time her comment had baffled Bertie, and in retrospect it still didn’t make any sense. What could possibly have happened to Edith to make her feel that way? Had some other man rejected her? Bertie couldn’t imagine what kind of man would be such a fool as to turn Edith down. There was so much he wanted to say to her, about how clever and brilliant she was, how interesting and funny, how any man would be lucky to have her. 

The memory of their kiss, and of holding her in his arms, had been warming every lonely night since he came home. She wanted to spend more time with him. She wanted him to come to Downton. At least now he knew he had a chance with her. For now, that was enough.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was originally conceived as a series of letters between Bertie and Edith, but I didn't feel last week's episode gave me much to work with, letter-wise. I was insane to try to write anything before the series is over, but some people seem to be following along now and I didn't want to disappoint. So this week is more in-between scenes than in-between episodes, and only one short letter.
> 
> I swear, when the Christmas Special has aired and everything's wrapped up I'll write a proper story about Bertie and Edith. Complete with plot and actual editing and everything.

_Dear Bertie,_

_I’m so sorry I can’t make it down to London for the eleventh, but Mama asked if you’d like to stop in at Downton for a couple of days on your way home?_

_I’m afraid it’s not an entirely altruistic invitation. Mama’s trying to raise money for the hospital and Mary and Tom have decided to open the house to the public for a day. I think she’s hoping you’ll have some good ideas, since none of us really has a clue what we’re doing._

_Papa’s doing much better, so much so that he’s begun complaining about his convalescence and insisting he’s well enough to get up. The doctor has managed to keep him in bed so far, but it’s only a matter of time before he’s up and grumbling about everything._

_Write and let me know which train you’ll be on and I’ll pick you up from the train station._

_Love,  
Edith._

Bertie waited at the train station for twenty minutes before deciding he might as well start walking towards the house. Whatever had delayed Edith, he’d rather meet her half way than hang around here.

He had only got through the village and on to the main drive when he saw the car come round the corner and pull over. Surprisingly, it was Edith who jumped out of the driver’s seat. 

“Thank God I've found you! The car wouldn't start, so I had to get Stark to do it.”

Bertie smiled. “I'm glad I don't have to walk the whole length of the drive.”

Edith came around to the passenger’s side and reached for the door. “Hop in.”

“I will. But first-” Even though it was barely a week since he’d last seen Edith, to Bertie it seemed years. If he didn’t kiss her that very second he felt he would burst. He took his hat off and leaned in. Her lips felt warm and soft and she pressed into him, one hand coming up to his shoulder.

When he pulled back Edith was smiling at him. “That feels so nice and…automatic.”

“Which is good?”

“It is for me.”

They got into the car, but instead of starting off Edith just sat there looking at him. Bertie was pretty sure the smile he was wearing was even bigger and soppier than Edith’s. 

“God, I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you.” He leaned in to kiss her again, longer this time, lifting one hand to softly touch her cheek and sliding his fingers into her hair. He only pulled away in order to nuzzle her cheek and ear.

“I missed you too.” She pulled his mouth back to hers, kissing him hard. When Bertie had first met Edith he had thought her sweet and a little shy. He could never have dared to imagine the passionate creature who had her arms wrapped around his neck and her mouth fastened to his. If he had, he would never have let her leave Brancaster in the first place.

Edith pulled back and laughed softly against his mouth. “If we don’t get going we’re going to be late for dinner.”

“To hell with dinner. I’d much rather sit here and kiss you.” One more, just one more. Bertie didn’t know how often they’d be able to do this in the house. But after another minute she pushed gently at his chest. 

“Bertie.”

He smiled. “I’m sorry. I just want to seize every chance I get.” Edith put the car in gear and carefully turned it around, driving forward a little way and reversing until they were pointing the right way. Bertie was deeply impressed. “I had no idea you could drive.”

“Oh,” Edith waved a hand, “I learnt during the war. Thinking our chauffeur would get called up and there would be nobody to drive us. But he never did.”

“Was that Mr. Branson?” Edith had already told Bertie the story of how their chauffeur became her brother-in-law.

“That’s right. He taught me.” She glanced sideways at him and smiled. “Of course, he didn’t have to teach me very much. I was a natural.”

Bertie laughed. “I’ll have to ask Mr. Branson about that.”

They were barely through the front door when the dressing gong was being rung, so Bertie hurried to dress for dinner. Thankfully, it was only the family, and they were every bit as friendly to him as they had been at Christmas. Bertie was allowed to sit next to Edith at dinner, and afterwards managed to claim the spot next to her on the sofa. 

Altogether it was very satisfactory, and he was sorry when the ladies all excused themselves from the drawing-room early, claiming they needed to rest before their ordeal the next day. He and Tom stayed another half hour or so chatting, but without Edith gracing it with her presence the drawing room seemed rather empty, and Bertie was quite happy to agree with Tom that they should go to bed themselves.

He had closed the bedroom door behind him and turned on the light before he registered the presence of another person. He nearly leapt out of his skin. “Edith!”

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to frighten you.” She was sitting on the sofa at the foot of the bed. “I only wanted to see you before I went to bed.”

“Well.” Bertie reined in his imagination and told himself sternly to behave. So what if a beautiful woman had snuck into his bedroom at night? He was a gentleman. “I can only imagine what your father would do to me if he found you in here.”

“These days, he’d probably do it to me.” Bertie looked askance at that but Edith just shook her head. “Never mind.”

“I hope I wasn’t too abrupt at dinner, giving everyone directions.”

“No, I think they were all grateful for the advice. How did you come to know so much about it, anyway?

“I’ve done it before for Peter. Since he’s not at Brancaster much he thinks we might as well make use of the house in other ways, so there’s always an open day or people renting for the summer or the shooting or something. It pays for all the repairs, and for Peter’s life in Tangiers. In fact, when you’ve done a shooting party it makes an open house look like child’s play.”

“You’re so clever and organised.”

“Oh, not really.” Bertie went and sat down next to Edith on the sofa. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“Not in the slightest, but I suppose I’ll have to wing it. I know what all the major paintings are and who did them, and about how it used to be a monastery before Henry VIII came and chucked everyone out. Will they want to ask questions?”

“Dozens, I should think.”

“Oh Lord, really? Oh, I do wish Mr. Pattinson were here. I don’t really know anything else, apart from unsavoury stories of previous Earls that Granny has told me. I don’t think those are fit for public consumption.”

Bertie laughed. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet your grandmother. She sounds splendid.”

“She’s terrifying, is what she is. Maybe she’ll come for dinner tomorrow. She’s kept away recently because she and Mama are having some kind of feud over the local hospital.”

“Oh, dear.” Bertie moved a fraction closer to Edith. In spite of all his intentions to conduct himself like a gentleman, it was hard to ignore that the woman of his dreams was alone with him in his bedroom. “I suppose a goodnight kiss would be out of the question?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Edith slid along the sofa towards him. “I think you deserve one for putting up with my family.” She reached over and kissed him; warm, soft and all too brief. 

Bertie moved closer still, so that he could wrap Edith in his arms. “You know I’m madly in love with you, don’t you?”

Edith turned a fetching shade of pink. “Are you?”

“Oh, yes.” He kissed her again, longer and deeper. Edith turned in the circle of his arms so she could put her own arms around his neck. “Edith – I know I’m not much of a catch—”

“Be quiet and kiss me.”

Bertie laughed slightly against Edith’s mouth. He couldn’t argue with that. He could happily sit here and kiss Edith until dawn. He wrapped his arms more tightly around her. “The thing is, I want to do so much more than just kiss you.” 

Edith pulled back and then stood up suddenly. “I can’t stay the night, so don’t ask me.” 

“I— Of course not!” Bertie felt like he’d had a bucket of cold water thrown over him. He had meant something quite different. But – no. He couldn’t propose marriage to this woman in the middle of the night in his bedroom. Surely there would be some more opportune moment. Oh God, and Edith thought—“I know you’re not like that.”

“Aren’t I?” Edith’s tone was surprisingly bitter. 

Bertie went over to her. “No. Not at all. I didn’t mean to imply…”

But she was shaking her head. “No, I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just… I don’t know.” 

They looked at each other in silence for a moment. Bertie didn’t know what to say. 

“I should go to bed.”

“Yes, of course.”

She smiled at him and stretched up to kiss him one last time, dry and chaste. “Goodnight, Bertie.”

And then she was gone. Well. Bertie sat heavily on the sofa. He’d made a right mess of that. What had he been thinking? The problem was, it was intoxicating to be sitting next to Edith. He would do anything to make her happy, if only she would let him. With a sight Bertie undressed and took himself to bed.

He stayed out of the way the next day for the opening, amusing himself with a walk around the gardens in the afternoon. At dinner everyone was exhausted but smiling. Apparently the whole day had been a great success and they’d made a pretty decent amount of money. While everyone was distracted Edith squeezed his hand under the table and mouthed ‘Thank you’. 

Bertie’s train left first thing the next morning, and Edith got up early to have breakfast with him and drive him to the train station. Once Bertie’s suitcases had been safely stowed and he’d found his compartment, there didn’t seem to be much else to do. Still, neither of them wanted to say goodbye just yet. They ended up standing on the edge of the platform together, pretending to be interested in the people walking past.

“Edith, the other night—”

“Please forget about it. I already have.” Edith’s tone was final. “What will you do this week?”

“I have to check how the cottage repairs are going. And some people want to rent the old rectory for a fishing holiday, so I’ll have to see about that.” He looked at her hopefully. “I have to go to London next week to see the solicitors.”

Edith’s answering smile filled him with relief. “What a coincidence. I want to go and see my editor next week, to check how she’s settled in. I’ll take you dancing.” 

“You will?” The idea surprised and delighted Bertie. “Where?”

“The Metropole? They’ve got Edna Maude dancing the Charleston at double speed. Apparently it has to be seen to be believed.”

“That’s a marvellous idea. I love the Metropole.” 

“I know.” Edith moved a little closer to him and squeezed his hand. “I knew we’d like the same things.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dear Peter,

You’ll be pleased to hear that I seem to have found a tenant for Oakwood Farm. His name is Malham, and he was a dairy farmer over on the Lanercost Estate before it had to be sold. He seems a decent sort and he has a lot of experience. The old agent told me he paid his rent on time and was no trouble. I told him nothing’s final until I’ve cleared it with you, so write and let me know what you think.

I also have news, of a kind. There’s a girl I met here at Brancaster last year, when the Sinderbys rented for the shooting. Her name is Lady Edith Crawley; she’s the daughter of the Earl of Grantham if that rings any bells. We’ve spent a bit of time together in London the last few months and, well, the upshot is I’ve asked her to marry me. She hasn’t given me an answer, so it’s not time to get out the bunting just yet, but I hope very much that she will say yes. 

I know I’m biased, but I really can’t tell you how wonderful she is. She owns her own magazine, and writes for it too. She can drive; she drove tractors on a farm during the war. I really don’t know what such an all-round marvel sees in someone like me, but there we are. We like the same music, and she dances like an angel. And she’s so funny. And I have no doubt I’m boring you to tears, so I’ll stop. If she says yes I do hope you’ll come to the wedding. I’m sure you would like her immensely. 

I hope you’re taking care of yourself, and not getting _too_ sloshed on Zemmour. 

All the best,  
Bertie.

 

My darling Edith,

I hope you all got home alright, and that the horror of the trip to London has dimmed slightly. It was a bloody awful business, and I felt terrible for your family. I trust you’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.

Two of our tenant farmers have just left us, so I’ve spent most of the last few days hunting for new farmers and interviewing them. And the estate is giving a party for all the tenants tomorrow night in the village hall, as we do every year. The house staff are catering it, and I’m sure you can imagine the uproar there at the moment. I’m keeping well away. I’ve retreated to my study at home so I can indulge in the pleasant task of writing to you instead. I don’t much fancy stuffing myself into my tails and stirring abroad tomorrow, but we have to show the tenants our appreciation. And I will think of the pleasant prospect of being able to read your reply in a few days and that will get me through it.

I’ve thought about you every moment we’ve been apart. I’m sorry, I don’t say this to pressure you into a decision. I _want_ you to take your time; I want you to be sure. It’s just I miss you a great deal and sometimes it’s difficult to keep it in. Our evenings together in London have been wonderful. You dance beautifully. I’m not sure you realise how all the other men in the room are looking at you when we dance. And I feel so at ease in your company, and I hope you feel the same way about me. When you said that I make you feel happy and confident – you must know, all I want in the world is for you to be happy. All I want is the privilege of being the person who makes you happy.

Alright, enough. I said I wasn’t pressuring you, and I’m not. Just write and let me know that you’re alright, and how your family are bearing up.

Warmest regards,  
Bertie.

 

Dear Bertie,

Things have been much better at home this week; Mama and Papa have shaken off the gloom, although I think Tom is still a bit shell-shocked. I know how desperate he was to get in a race-car himself, so naturally the whole sorry day has given him pause for thought. Mary is still moping around the house. I do feel sorry for her, though. Matthew, her late husband, died in a car crash, and of course it just brought all those old feelings out again.

I never got a chance to tell you, but the day before the race I went to the office to see how Laura is settling in. She wants to start an agony aunt column in the magazine. She says they’ve had something of a revival in America and we’re sure to follow, but I’m not sure. The examples she showed me were funny but also a little bit cruel. And I want to do more of the artistic and literary things the magazine has published in the past, and less of the gossip. Since the war women have realised they can do things more meaningful than paying calls and changing their clothes, or at least that’s how it seems to me, and I want the things we write about to be meaningful too.

I know you’ll have some sound advice for me, because you always do. I haven’t forgotten how wonderful you were during my night of terror at the magazine. If you ever decide you’ve had enough of being an agent you would make a great editor! 

I’m so flattered to hear you say those things about me. I’m quite sure I don’t deserve any of them, but thank you. To tell you the truth, I’m quite sure I don’t deserve _you_ , although I know you’ll disagree. It’s difficult to explain. That day in London, when you asked me to have a drink with you, I was so surprised. And then I wondered if perhaps you were asking because you felt sorry for me. I’m sure that sounds rather self-pitying, but you wouldn’t have been the first man to feel sorry for me. I didn’t think that a man as handsome and kind and lovely as you could really be interested in me. 

It’s so hard to talk about these things in a letter. Let me know when you’re next going to London and I’ll make sure my visit coincides. 

Warmest regards,  
Edith. 

 

Dear Bertie,

My dear chap, I can’t tell you how thrilled I am! I’m sure she’s every bit as marvellous as you say, and of course I’ll come back for the wedding. It’s been so long we thought you’d never settle down – some of the family were beginning to think that you’re of my stripe. Don’t hesitate to spend whatever is necessary and charge it to the house accounts. Can’t have you married in anything less than the full Brancaster style!

Things here are much the same as ever. Not as unbearably hot as it was last month, not that I mind the heat much. Do get married in the summer, won’t you? If I can help it I’ll never spend another winter in damp and dreary Northumberland again. 

I’ve been working on a little street scene with a mosque and children playing and whatnot, and I have to say I think it’s going to turn out rather well. Whenever I’m not painting I stroll down to the seafront and have coffee with Mr. Benjelloun. He tells me there’s been a nasty bout of typhoid fever going around, and to be careful where I eat and where my drinking water comes from. The glamorous life abroad! 

Incidentally, I _have_ heard of the Earl of Grantham. He had a Turkish house guest snuff it in the middle of the night a few years ago, and the rumour going around London was that he hadn’t been in his own bed at all but in the daughter’s room. I met her that year during the Season and she was rather a cold fish, not your sort of girl at all, but she might well be your fiancée’s sister. She had one of those queen names – Anne, maybe? Anyway, keep an eye on her from a safe distance, old boy. 

Write and let me know a date and I’ll hop it back to England forthwith. I really am so pleased for you.

All my best wishes,  
Peter. 

 

Dearest Edith,

You don’t sound self-pitying at all. But rest assured, I never for one second felt sorry for you. When we met at Brancaster I thought you were beautiful and fascinating, and I wanted to talk to you more. I had never met anyone before who knew about so many different things and had such modern ideas and was so interesting to talk to. I thought you must have guessed when I asked you to dance for the fourth time in one evening. To tell you the truth, I kept racking my brains for an excuse to see you again, but I couldn’t think of one. Bumping into you in London was the biggest bit of luck I’ve ever had. 

I hope you don’t mind, but I told Peter about you. I told him you haven’t said yes and nothing is settled yet, but he says he’d like to come back to England some time and meet you. I’m sure you’d like him. He’s one of the gentlest men I’ve ever met. And of course he will adore you. Who wouldn’t?

As for _The Sketch_ , I’m inclined to agree with you. Women’s lives certainly look very different to what they were at the turn of the century, and a good thing too. I say go with your instincts. They’ve led you in the right direction so far. Write the kind of magazine that you would want to read, and women like you will want to read it. 

Instead of meeting you in London, I was wondering if your mother would have me to stay at Downton again? It’s rather bad form to invite myself, but I was thinking perhaps I could spend some more time with Marigold. I know you haven’t decided anything yet, but it couldn’t hurt for me to get to know her better. She’s a darling little girl and I’ve already become quite fond of her. And, of course, I want to see more of you. There’s never a time when I don’t want to see more of you.

Your own,  
Bertie. 

 

Darling Bertie,

Of course you must come and stay! Mama says you can come for the weekend, if you’d like. Just telephone and let us know when so I can pick you up from the station. 

I can’t tell you how pleased I am to hear you say that about Marigold. I _was_ worried about her and what you would think of me bringing her, and it’s such a comfort to know that you like her. And it’s a comfort to know that Lord Hexham is pleased. I’m sure he’s lovely and we’ll get on famously. 

You’re such a sweetheart, you make it impossibly hard to say no to you. But I’m afraid there are still some things we must discuss. When you come to stay maybe we can talk about it. I’m so sorry to keep you waiting for an answer. But it won’t be much longer now. I promise. 

All my love,  
Edith.


	5. Chapter 5

To: HERBERT PELHAM  
From: BRITISH FOREIGN OFFICE

REGRET TO INFORM YOU DEATH OF PETER PELHAM MARQUESS OF HEXHAM IN TANGIERS STOP PLEASE WIRE INSTRUCTIONS FOR DISPOSITION TO BE MADE STOP OUR DEEPEST CONDOLENCES


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